


"Steve"/32557

by Shaish



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Creepy shit, Gen, Horror, I Tried, I've never written horror before, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Maybe - Freeform, Scary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 23:45:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2289080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaish/pseuds/Shaish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His couch pillows are on the floor. </p><p>His couch pillows shouldn't be on the floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Steve"/32557

**Author's Note:**

> I have not read this over. I ended up finishing it around 3am and Gina just read it through and beta'd it yesterday fjdksl. So, sorry if there's a mess somewhere in all of this.  
> Also! Totally mostly inspired by 3:02 am by fuck_me_barnes; http://archiveofourown.org/works/2241882/chapters/4918746 IT'S AWESOME AMAZING GO READ IT AND BE CAREFUL IF YOU ACTUALLY WANT TO SLEEP AT NIGHT IT'S FREAKY SHIT BUT IT'S AMAZING FREAKY SHIT.

“Wait, Sam, hang on,” Steve says, putting his phone down on top of the four hot pizza boxes on his kitchen counter, sliding them towards the edge to get one hand on the bottom before sliding them the rest of the way off and gripping the opposite side with the other. He takes them to his living room, picking his phone back up and bringing it to his ear as he reaches for the remote.

“Okay, I’m back.” He switches on the tv.

_“How many pizzas did you order that you had to put the phone down?”_

Steve opens his mouth to reply as he flips through the channels, looking for something good.

“ _Nevermind_ ,” Sam says before he can, “ _Don’t answer that. It hurts my stomach just thinking of the possibilities_.” Steve grins, grimacing briefly at a ‘slasher’ before passing it and stopping on a black and white film.

“It’s not that many,” Steve jokes back, setting the remote down to his left and reaching for the top pizza box, the single lamp in the opposite left corner giving the pizza a gentle glow.

“ _I specifically remember you saying that about those cheeseburgers we got last weekend_ ,” Sam says back, tone a little prim.

Steve rolls his eyes, pulling a slice of pepperoni out and taking a bite, groaning a little at the taste. “I hab a high metabolibm,” he says in the middle of chewing. Sam makes an affronted sound.

“ _Don’t talk with your mouth full_ ,” he scolds. Steve can practically see his disapproving eyebrows and finger pointing.

Steve opens his mouth full of food to reply, lips pulled up when he hears a creak and whips his head around, looking back into the kitchen over his shoulder. He swallows his mouthful, eyes scanning the room.

“ _Steve? You there? Hello? My great gran’s manner teaching didn’t scare you into silence did they? I know you better than that. ...Steve?_ ” he asks more seriously after another moment of silence.

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly after a moment, slowly turning back around, “Yeah. I heard a creak in my kitchen, but I don’t see anything.”

“ _Hm. I would say it happens all the time, but with our lives?_ ” Sam says.

Steve huffs a breathy laugh. “Yeah.”

There’s another creak, louder this time, closer.

Steve whips his head around, but he still doesn’t see anything. He frowns.

“Sam, I just heard it again. I’m going to do a scan of the apartment.”

“ _Alright,_ ” Sam says seriously, _“You got your shield?”_

“Yeah, I’m getting it now,” Steve says as he slides the pizza slice back in the box and wipes his hand on his jeans, making his way around the couch and down the hall to his room, eyes scanning on the way there.

He gets his shield, does a full sweep of his apartment while Sam waits, tense and silent on the other end of the phone. Steve checks his locks, all of his windows and front door. Everything’s secure.

Steve stands in front of the kitchen, frowning down at the wood floor.

“ _Maybe it really is just that thing that happens all the time_ ,” Sam says, “ _You know? Floors creaking, ceilings creaking, pipes and squeaky door hinges_.”

“Yeah,” Steve says after a moment, letting out a breath, “Maybe.”

Steve takes his shield back over to his couch, propping it against the front next to his right leg and reaching back into the box for his pizza.

It’s quiet for the rest of the night.

\--

_Day One_

 

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that, Natasha,” Steve sighs, looking out the windshield of the black corvette.

“Alright, I won’t push anymore,” Natasha replies a little teasingly, turning onto his street. She doesn’t say anything more, but Steve can practically feel the words she wants to say. Or maybe the ones he’s all too aware of.

Steve lets out another sigh. “I know, I know. I spend a lot of time at home,” Steve says as she pulls up next to his motorcycle. He opens his door but stops to turn and look at her.

She looks back, lips curved up just the slightest. “As long as you’re aware,” she says a little teasingly after a moment. It’s taken him a bit to get to see her more humorous side, but he likes it on her, it’s...nice.

Steve rolls his eyes good naturedly, smiling a little back. “I’m aware,” he says jokingly back, stepping out of the car. The window rolls down as he closes the door.

“Have a goodnight, Steve,” she says through the gap.

“Have a goodnight, Natasha,” Steve says back.

Her lips curve up a little more before the windows roll up and the corvette is easing off down the street, streetlights sliding off of it like water. He turns and heads inside his apartment building.

He kicks his apartment door shut with a foot and locks it, stepping into the main room of his apartment only to freeze.

Something’s off, but he’s not sure what.

He silently unhooks his shield from his back as he moves further into the room, keeping his steps just as silent as he clears them all one by one. He frowns a little, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

Nothing’s out of place. All of the windows are shut and locked and nothing’s been taken-

That’s when he notices it, and he freezes, staring into the living room.

The coffee table’s been pushed to the side and all of the couch cushions have been moved to the floor, laid out like he and Bucky used to-

Steve takes a shaky breath, fingers tightening their grip on his shield as he blows it out roughly.

Who the hell would- That’s just-

He marches forward, stopping at the edge of the cushions and glaring down at them.

He didn’t find any traces of breaking in, but clearly _someone’s_ gotten in and is-

“This is a cruel joke,” Steve says quietly to himself, hooking his shield onto his back as he bends down to start putting the cushions back on the couch.

\--

_Day Two_

 

Steve watches Tony install the last camera with his arms crossed, stepping down the latter with a put upon sigh.

“Well, there you go,” Tony says, gesturing at the security fixtures. He walks over and picks up Steve’s laptop off of the coffee table, holding it with one arm while tapping at it with the fingers of the other, sidestepping the breakdown suitcase that he brought. It’s a lot like his portable Iron Man suit. “All of the feeds are connected to your laptop,” he continues, bringing it over to show Steve. Steve leans in a little, eyes darting to the various tiny versions of him and Tony standing in the living room and the rest of his empty apartment. “If _anyone_ or _anything_ does try to get into your apartment, the alarm will go off and the security cameras will light the room up right with their installed lights, so you’ll know which room it is. I hope you like raves,” Tony teases with a waggle of his brows.

Steve lets out a breath, uncrossing his arms to take the laptop from him. “Thank you Tony,” he says, looking from the screens to him, “I know it’s a lot for...well, I know it’s a lot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony says lightly, shrugging it off before going to collect his suitcase, “But you’re paying the next time we all go out.” He throws a grin in Steve’s direction and Steve quirks his lips back.

“Deal,” Steve agrees, and Tony nods before showing himself out, front door closing with a _click_ behind him.

Steve turns his head back to his laptop, taking it over with him to sit on the couch. A tiny him mimics his movements, and Steve raises a hand and wiggles his fingers, grinning a little when the tiny him does the same.

He’s sitting on his bed in the dark that night when he hears the creak again, hasn’t slept and has his laptop propped open in his lap, back to the wall and face and chest lit up by the screen. His eyes dart to the feed for the kitchen, pulling up all of the angles and squinting his eyes a little as he leans closer, looking over each feed.

There’s nothing.

He glances at the clock. Midnight. He hears the creak again and his eyes dart back to the screen.

Still nothing.

He holds his breath for a long minute, listening intently, and blows it out on a long breath. Two creaks, just like before. Maybe it really is nothing. Just the flooring, the building, pipes? Whatever Sam had suggested. Just because he’s Captain America doesn’t mean his apartment can’t have its quirks. He closes out of the feeds solely for the kitchen and puts it back on the array. That still doesn’t explain the couch cushions, but at least he’s got one mystery solved.

He sets his laptop on his bedside table and crawls under the sheets.

He doesn’t see the feed to the kitchen flicker.

\--

_Day Three_

 

“Okay,” Sam says slowly as Steve clenches his fists next to him, “I’ll admit. If I was sneaking into Captain America’s apartment, I wouldn’t do it just to put his couch cushions on the floor.”

Steve’s jaw clenches, and he strides forward, bending down to put the cushions back. He hears Sam move forward to help but jerks his head, and hears Sam’s footsteps stop.

When he’s done, he stands back up, staring down at the cushions on his couch.

“So…I take it there’s something I don’t know about here,” Sam says after a few moments. Steve’s fists clench again. “Look, you don’t have to tell me what it is, but this is obviously affecting you. For more reason than just someone breaking in.”

Steve holds in his breath for a long minute before finally letting it out, forcing his fists to unclench and his hands to relax at his side. “Bucky and I…” he starts quietly, not looking up from the couch, “When we were kids, I’d stay over at Bucky’s, when I was healthy enough to. He’d set up the couch cushions on the floor for me, but we’d both end up sleeping on them, all twisted up after a night of telling stories and making them up as we went. And after my ma...We still did it. And it was…It was ours, and I don’t- I don’t know who would know that. I haven’t told anyone. Until now,” Steve finishes, finally looking up and over at Sam.

Sam’s eyebrows have pulled together a little, a small worry line pinched between them and the corners of his mouth pulled down a concentrated frown. “Well,” he finally says, “Let’s check the security feed.”

Sam helps him check the rest of the apartment before they both sit down on the couch. Steve skips the feed back to the beginning, then fast forwards until he can see himself in uniform leaving the apartment. They both watch.

Ten minutes into watching, the feed goes haywire and cuts out, and the it comes back on a few seconds later.

“I thought Tony’s tech was state of the art,” Sam says as Steve rewinds it, both frowning.

“It is,” Steve responds, replaying it. He watches everything closely, rewinding it two more times before pausing it in the middle, the feed still black. “Look. There,” he says, pointing at the time stamp. It’s all jumbled, numbers in no proper order.

“Maybe it’s a glitch?” Sam suggests, looking over at him.

Steve frowns a little more back before looking back to the screen. “It shouldn’t,” he says after a moment, “I mean. I guess it’s likely, but I never thought Tony’s equipment would-” he cuts off, breath catching in his throat and blood freezing in his veins. “Steve?” he hears Sam say, but he can’t respond. He’s stuck, staring at the numbers in the corner.

After Sam’s said his name two more times, he feels a hand grip his shoulder and jolts, wide eyes flying in Sam’s direction to find his worried face. He relaxes slightly into the grip on his shoulder.

“Steve,” Sam says again, and Steve nods slightly, mouth hanging open a little, “What is it? What’s got you so spooked?”

Steve quickly brings the laptop closer, pointing at the time stamp in the corner. Sam reads the numbers out, frowning over at Steve after. Steve looks back.

“‘32557?’” Sam asks. Steve’s jaw clicks closed and Sam’s eyebrows furrow further. “Does that mean something to you?”

“It’s…” Steve trails off, eyes moving back to the screen like they’ve been pulled there, “It’s Bucky’s serial number.”

He hears three creaks that night. Steve might be imagining it, but they sound like boots.

_Right left right._

\--

_Day Four_

 

“This is impossible,” Tony says from where he’s scanning Steve’s laptop with his tablet, running diagnostics, playing the same ten seconds of blacked out footage on loop.

Steve slowly draws his eyes away from the timestamp in the corner of the screen. It’s hard.

“What is?” Sam asks from Steve’s right, arms crossed over his chest and feet shoulder width apart, posture perfectly balanced.

“ _This_ ,” Tony says, gesturing at Steve’s laptop, “ _These numbers._ They jumble, right?” He looks over at them and Sam and Steve nod. Natasha comes back from combing the living room. “And you managed to pause them on the sequence ‘32557’, but they’re all just variations of ‘32557’.”

Sam frowns. “What do you mean? It’s just the same group of numbers in different order getting shuffled around?”

“That’s _exactly_ what I mean,” Tony says with a serious expression, eyes dropping to his tablet to click a few things before looking back up, “And that’s...not possible. Not with my equipment. And it’s not a glitch,” he cuts off when Sam opens his mouth. Tony holds up his tablet towards them, Natasha coming to a stop near Steve’s left. It says: ‘Diagnostics complete. No malfunctions detected. Scan again?’ Tony pulls the tablet back, frowning down at Steve’s laptop. “This isn’t _possible_. There’s no malfunction, so there shouldn’t be a glitch, but there is one and it’s with numbers that don’t correlate between the _last_ time stamp and the _next_. It’s _impossible_.”

They’re all quiet for a minute until Steve breaks the silence.

“Is it…” he trails off. They all look at him. “Could this...actually _be Bucky?_ ”

“Man,” Sam starts, uncrossing his arms to put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve jerks slightly and Sam raises his hand, but Steve looks over. “Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t,” Sam says, gentle but firm.

“He’s right,” Natasha finally chimes in, drawing all of their eyes to her, “I read that James Buchanan Barnes went missing in action in 1944. The odds of him surviving that fall were not high.” Her eyes soften a little when she looks at Steve, but she stands by her words.

Sam’s eyes are more gentle when he looks at Steve, but Steve knows he and Sam both aren't just thinking of Bucky. “That drop...I don’t think he would have survived it.”

“Besides,” Tony says, and they all look at him next. Tony frowns down at Steve’s laptop, releasing the loop and looking over the footage, “There’s a gap of time of at least ten minutes that can’t be accounted for. A professional could have gotten in and out in that time. If they knew about my security system,” Tony mumbles the last to himself, but they all still hear it.

“But what about…” Steve trails off. Tony looks up at him. “The cushions...how would they- I haven’t told anyone about that until Sam, and now you guys. How would they know?”

Tony glances to Sam and Natasha and then towards Steve’s living room, shrugging his shoulders after a moment. “I don’t know. Could just be a fluke. It’s more likely it’s that then a _ghost_.”

Steve doesn’t flinch, but it’s a close thing.

“Hey,” Sam says gently. Steve looks over. “Do you want to crash at my place tonight?”

Steve worries his lower lip for a minute, glancing at the kitchen floor beneath his feet. If it really _is_ Bucky...he doesn’t want to leave. He looks back up at Sam, shaking his head. “No, I think I’ll stay here,” he says, adding on when he knows they’re going to say something about it, “If someone is sneaking into my apartment, I want to catch them.” Sam nods once and smiles a little, while Natasha speaks.

“Perhaps someone should stay here with you.”

Steve looks over at her and she looks back, crossing her arms over his chest in a smooth motion, managing to convey that she won’t take ‘no’ for answer somehow in such a casual gesture.

Steve nods after a moment and her lips quirk up, just slightly. He smiles back.

Tony pulls his phone out as he heads for Steve’s living room, quickly dialing a number before bringing it up to his ear. “Bring my equipment down. I have a security system I need to replace.”

Natasha sits with him on the couch that night, Chinese takeout on the coffee table in front of him, her on her second box of beef and Steve on his third box of fried rice.

Midnight comes and goes and they both put away the leftovers into Steve’s refrigerator, moving back to the couch after. Steve sets the open laptop in his lap, but tries not to stare at it too often. He knows Natasha will notice if he does.

“So,” she says a short bit later. Steve glances over, but her eyes are on the tv. “You think it could be Barnes?”

Steve looks back to the tv, where a little girl is sitting in front of a static filled television screen. A chill shoots up his spine at the irony of it. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. There’s a creak from the kitchen. Steve’s eyes dart to the clock in the corner of his laptop. 12:20. Natasha stills next to him when there’s three more. _Left left right left._ He looks over at her, and watches her eyes slowly slide to the side in the direction of the kitchen, but she doesn’t turn her head. Steve looks down at the feed for it, but there’s nothing. He looks back over to find her staring at him.

“If it is…” she says after a few moments, voice quiet, “You should be careful, Steve. The dead are not to be taken lightly.”

Steve swallows and nods once, and she turns her face back towards the tv, eyes back on the screen. Steve has to fight with himself to not look down at his laptop.

\--

_Day Five_

 

Steve wakes up with a krink in his neck, and after he stretches and looks over, he finds the seat across from him empty.

“Natasha?” he calls out, listening for a response.

Silence.

Steve pushes himself up, checking the kitchen before going to the hall bathroom, finding the door only open an inch.

“Natasha?” he asks again, letting out a yawn, “You in there?” He feels a cold hand on his shoulder and turns around. “Nata-” Steve cuts himself off. There’s no one there. His hair stands on end.

He hears a squeak and whips around, only to find Natasha with her hand on door, toweling her hair dry with her other hand. She narrows her eyes a little, glancing behind him before looking back to his face. “What is it,” she says, voice low.

Steve shakes his head a little, half turning to look back behind him.

“Nothing,” he says after a moment, “There’s nothing.”

Sam comes over an hour after Natasha leaves to keep him company, but Steve can see right through it.

“Hey,” Sam starts, holding up his hands, “We’re just worried. Besides, it gives us time to hang out. Everyone wins.”

Steve rolls his eyes a little but smiles, trying to push down the urge to watch the footage again.

When he’d felt the hand on his shoulder, his shirt had been pressed down in the footage like there really was a hand there, even though it didn’t appear in the feed.

“Uh-huh,” Steve says teasingly, “So when’s Tony’s turn?”

Sam raises his eyebrows innocently before redirecting. “So you want Chinese or Mexican?”

They get Mexican, and watch all of the Godzilla movies ever made. They’re terrible, but Steve has to admit he kind of likes them.

He tries not to look at his laptop where it’s sitting open on the coffee table too frequently.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay over?” Sam asks for the fifth time as Steve walks him to the door, “Because I can, you know. It wouldn’t be a bother.”

Steve puts on a smile and shakes his head, opening his door for Sam to step out. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll probably just watch a few more movies and head to bed,” Steve says. Sam raises both eyebrows incredulously, but holds his hands up in mock surrender when Steve sends him a look.

“Alright, alright,” Sam says lightly, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth, “But you call if you need me. For anything. _You call_ ,” Sam says sternly, pointing a finger at Steve.

“Yes, mom,” Steve replies sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. Sam huffs, but turns around and heads for the stairs.

“ _I mean it, Rogers!_ ” he calls back, “ _Anything! You call!_ ”

“I will!” Steve calls back, smiling as he closes and locks his front door.

He heads back into the living room, and actually does end up watching a few more movies before taking his laptop with him to his room, where he crawls under the sheets but sits against the wall with his laptop propped in his lap, eyes on the security feeds. His eyes dart down to the clock every so often. It’s almost one, and then-

_Creak. Creak. Creak. Creak. Creak._

_Left. Left. Left. Right. Left._

His door squeaks and his eyes dart up to see it move open a few inches, but there’s no one there.

Steve swallows.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

\--

_Day Six_

 

Steve forgoes running when the sun starts rising above the horizon, still wide awake and staring at his bedroom door. He eventually showers, takes longer than usual and stares into the fogged up mirror afterwards.

He writes Bucky’s name, and leaves it there as he gets dressed.

Steve ends up in the kitchen, staring around the room and his silent apartment as he thinks, heart racing. “Bucky?” he tries after a few minutes, listening intently for anything, “Bucky?” he repeats softly, eyes darting around, “Is it you?”

Silence.

“I just need to know if it’s you. Can you...do...something? Anything?”

Silence.

 _Shatter_.

Steve’s eyes widen as they dart over, one of his mugs in six pieces on the floor to his right.

It was sitting on the counter.

Steve swallows. “Buck…?”

A living room window snaps open and Steve whips around as the wind comes rushing in and the security lights light the whole room up red.

\--

_Day Seven_

 

Steve watches Tony look over the footage, Tony chewing on his lower lip as his eyes critically go over the recording.

Steve on the screen calls out to Bucky. The glass falls to the floor on its own, same with the window flying open. Steve on the screen whips around, but there’s no one else in the room.

Steve on the screen takes a few minutes before going to close the window, pulling his phone out to call Tony. Tony stops the footage, staring at the screen for a long minute. It’s the sixth time he’s watched it.

“You realize this is impossible,” Tony says after a bit. Steve shifts a little.

“You saw it with your own eyes, Tony,” Steve says a little quieter.

Tony huffs out a breath. “Yeah but- This _literally_ isn’t possible. I mean. It _can’t be a ghost_. It can’t.”

Steve’s mouth flattens a little, but he lets it go. Tony’s a scientist. Steve’s not even what you’d call really spiritual. But this is...apparently this is _Bucky_. He’s willing to look beyond what he thought he believed before.

“I can’t argue whether it’s scientifically possible or not,” Steve says after a moment. Tony finally looks over. “But you have proof of _something_ going on. Neither of us can deny that.”

Tony’s faces tightens a little and he looks back to the screen biting at his lower lip again. “That much is true,” he concedes, pushing himself up from where he’s been leaning on the kitchen counter, staring at the screen. “I guess it’s my turn to play sleepover.”

Steve sits on the couch with his laptop while Tony combs the apartment, namely the kitchen and living room. He does tests on the shards of the mug Steve had left where it fell on the floor and on the living room window. Steve’s not exactly sure what at least half of what he’s doing is, but he leaves him to it.

Around one he leaves Tony to his gadgets, bidding him a, “Goodnight, Tony” that he gets an absent minded grunt in return. Steve thinks he might’ve just stood in Pepper Pott’s shoes for all of two seconds.

He heads to his bedroom with his laptop, keeping his steps measured as he crosses the threshold, and pausing just inside his room.

Nothing happens.

The door doesn’t move and nothing shifts or falls to the ground, so after a few moments, Steve closes his door most of the way and heads over to his dresser to change into a pair of sweatpants and a tshirt.

He crawls into bed with his laptop like the previous night and settles in for another night without sleep, knees pulled up and left hand’s fingers resting on the touchpad mouse, ready to pull up any feed in particular, right hand resting loose at his side on the bed.

A tiny Tony is still in the living room feed, tinkering away and scanning everything for what has to be the tenth time, stopping occasionally to mutter to himself as he calculates or swears. Steve’s grinning a little to himself when he hears his door creak, and he freezes, breath catching in his throat when he feels the end of his bed sink a little.

He keeps his eyes on the door and his breathing almost silent, hair standing on end when whatever is on the end of his bed shifts up. His eyes dart to the right, widening when a few fingers come into view of the light coming off of his laptop screen. He darts a look back to his laptop, slowly clicking open the feed for his room.

He’s alone. There’s nothing there.

His eyes dart back to the fingers, body tensing and heart pounding in his ears when he sees the hand has slid closer to his, stopping just shy of fingertips brushing his own. But there’s-

There’s the top of a familiar, brown haired head, face down in the sheets next to it, and a dark blue coat.

Steve shifts, and the fingers twitch slightly, so he holds himself as still as he possibly can, and then some.

The fingers twitch the slightest bit closer and then they’re touching, and his skin is so cold.

The head turns a little, just enough for Steve to see a familiar nose and a pair of familiar lips, and he doesn’t realize how cold he is until his breath comes out in a small fog, vision going black around the edges-

\--

_Day Eight_

_“...-Steve! Can you hear me?! Steve-”_

\--

 

_Day Twelve_

 

The first thing he registers is the beeping. It’s slow and steady and-...familiar. He remembers thinking, after the serum, “ _Maybe I’ll never have to hear that ever again_.” He’d been wrong, but, at least it wasn’t as often as it used to be. So that’s something. He shifts slightly, holding in a groan as he blinks his eyes open slowly, squeezing them shut as much as he can at the shock of bright light.

“You’re awake,” says a soft voice, and Steve takes a moment to blink his eyes back open, squinting against the light and the shock of red to his right.

“Natasha?” Steve asks groggily, “Where? What-” he cuts off, finally noticing the dark blue standing right behind her. He keeps his eyes on her face, clears his throat when she raises a finely done eyebrow. “What…happened?” he manages to get out, building up a little saliva and forcing it down his dry, closing throat.

He keeps his eyes on her face.

His eyes go a little unfocused, wanting to look somewhere else than where he’s looking.

“The doctors aren’t sure,” he hears her say, and forces his eyes to focus again. Her expression is a little openly concerned. That’s...that can’t be good. “You’ve had a severe shock to your system,” she continues.

He hears something drip to the ground. Forces himself not to look.

“It wiped out most of your energy, nearly sent you into a seizure and a coma over the past eighteen hours. The serum is the only thing that seems to have kept you alive.”

Steve swallows again, tries to tune out the quiet _drip-drip-drip_ ping.

“They don’t know what caused it?” he manages to ask, holding back a cough in his chest from saying just that much. It feels like he’s had an asthma attack, on top of everything else.

“No,” she says quietly, and nothing more.

Steve nods once, risking a glance up behind her when her eyes dart to the door.

Bucky’s standing right behind her, half of his left forearm gone, the remains of the sleeve soaked through and red, dripping to the floor.

Steve can’t see his eyes, but his face is angled down and his lips are in a firm line. Steve thinks he might be glaring at Natasha hard enough to move mountains. His gut twists and does a summersault.

He needs to get her to move.

Steve looks back to her just before she looks back at him.

“I’ll be fine, if you need to go,” he says quietly, quiet enough to hide the shake, but not completely. He’s not above playing his health as a card if it’ll get her to be somewhere safer.

Her lips flatten slightly. “I can stay, if you need me to.”

Steve shakes his head slightly, giving a small, convincing yawn. “I’m just going to get some rest,” he says, gentling his voice, “Really. I’ll be fine here.”

She nods once after a long moment, rising up from the chair, hesitating before nodding again and making her way towards the door. Steve’s so thankful she didn’t touch him. Somehow, he doesn’t think Bucky would have liked it.

Steve swallows, looking back to the chair after the door has closed with a soft _click_.

Bucky’s standing in front of it now, but he doesn’t sit. Doesn’t talk either.

They stay quiet for a while, the silence somehow both suppressing and comforting in ways he can’t quite describe. It both terrifies him, and somehow also puts him at ease.

His eyes keep trailing back to Bucky’s arm every time he looks away, tears building in his eyes and his weak heart clenching.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out quietly, tears finally spilling over.

The fingers of Bucky’s remaining right hand twitch, just slightly, like they had on Steve’s bed.

“ _Bucky_ ,” he chokes out next, a near whisper.

And like a lock’s been released, Bucky’s _right there_ , face less than an inch away from his and fathomless blue eyes on him.

“ _Steve_ ,” he says on a breath, rushed out of him like he’s been holding it in for seventy years.

Steve’s hair stands on end.

It’s cold.

It’s then that he realizes it’s been twelve days.

He lost Bucky in December.

Their foreheads touch and Steve’s vision goes black.

There’s the sound of a long, loud beep somewhere in the distance, but grows faint with the sound of shouting voices.

The black resolves and Bucky’s eyes are so blue, like summer and winter. Steve takes his offered right hand and the cold is gone.

It feels like finally coming home.

 

 

“Call it.”

“Steve Grant Rogers, also known as Captain America. Pronounced dead on 03/25/14, 5:00 AM.”

_32557_


End file.
